


Tomorrow

by Kass



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Related, First Time, M/M, dS Seekrit Santa 2004, ds seekrit santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-01
Updated: 2008-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/pseuds/Kass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray might need a few tomorrows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mboyd as part of the dS Seekrit Santa exchange, 2004. Many thanks to the Star Fish and Sihaya Black for beta!

It was clear he'd done the right thing in interrupting Ray and Stella. Armed and angry ex-husbands were nothing to be trifled with. Still, Fraser had heard the music and the susurrations of their shoes sliding across the floor, and the sounds had given him a pang of guilt at knocking on her door.

He'd had no alternative. He was certain of that even at the time. But he still felt bad about putting an end to their evening.

The worst was the hollowness in Ray's eyes at the end of the night—the way he'd said, "Nah, Fraser, I think I'd like be alone." Fraser couldn't help feeling that he'd ruined their moment, even though he knew it was Weston who was at fault.

He, knew, too, that however seductive a notion romantic reunion might be, a heart once broken was likely to be broken again. But he didn't know this Ray well enough to venture saying that to him. It would be presumptuous. And maybe his own experience wasn't a good gauge; maybe he was wrong.

Still, the image of Ray's defeated posture as he left Stella's apartment, their tryst averted, lingered in Fraser's memory the next day, distracting him. As he filed a stack of 4902-Bs and 4907-Fs Ray's tone replayed itself in his mind. More than once he found himself standing beside the filing cabinet, hands empty, staring into the file drawers as though they held answers.

Simply put, he wanted to help. When Fraser had been drifting oarless in the icy ocean of his own sadness, after Victoria had come and gone, Ray Vecchio had rescued him. Had not allowed him to sulk. Had dragged him, stubbornly, out of his apartment when all he wanted to do was stare at the ceiling and ache.

Fraser knew he owed Ray Vecchio the same effort. And if Ray Kowalski were standing in for his friend, it was Fraser's obligation to repay the debt into his hands.

Besides, he liked this Ray. Truth be told, he rather more than liked this Ray. Fraser sighed, thinking of it, and then cast a guilty glance around the Consulate. He was fortunate that no one was there to hear him.

It was only a crush. Crushes subsided, with time. His body was traitorous as ever, but that didn't mean he needed to let it have the upper hand. Fraser strove to quash these ideas every time they arose. They weren't fair to Ray, and they could only lead to more heartbreak of his own.

The point was, he owed it to Ray to take him out for dinner, to cheer him up. That was it: Fraser would orchestrate a night on the town. For Ray.

* * *

Fraser spent the remainder of the afternoon contemplating what sort of night on the town Ray might most enjoy. Fine dining Fraser ruled out immediately; high-tier restaurants would remind Ray of watching Stella's date with Orsini. Tickets to a sporting event wouldn't go amiss, but Fraser had no way to procure them at such short notice, and probably insufficient funds to cover them anyway.

In the end, Fraser decided to take Ray to Paesano's: good, simple, country food. The portions were plentiful, the food was excellent, and the place had an atmosphere of cameraderie which would surely buoy Ray's spirits.

He resolved to leave the Consulate as soon as his workday could respectably be considered over. If he were honest with himself, he would admit that the afternoon rather dragged, after that, because he was so eager to reach evening.

* * *

Extricating himself from his Consular duties took longer than Fraser had anticipated; fortunately, Ray was still at his desk when Fraser arrived at the station. He sat at his desk, shoulders markedly slumped. He was ostensibly studying a file, but mostly he was twirling a pen around his fingers. When he heard footsteps, he looked up, startled.

"Hey, Fraser. Didn't expect to see you today. I'm not working on anything that needs—"

Before Ray could relegate him to mere on-call assistanthood, Fraser interrupted, "Ray, would you like a bite to eat?"

"Thanks, but I think I'm just going to head home. I'm not really good company right now." Ray stood, as if to walk past him, but Fraser blocked his way.

"Surely you have to eat. I thought—I was thinking of Paesano's."

Ray shrugged. "Not really hungry."

This was not going according to plan. "I'd really like to buy you dinner."

Ray at least looked curious now, which was an improvement on lacklustre and morose. "Why's that?"

"I feel I owe it to you after—interrupting your evening last night."

That proved the wrong thing to say: Ray's face tightened. "We're not talking about that, Fraser."

"My apologies. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine, don't worry about it." Ray scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Look, I really oughtta just go home, okay?"

Fraser jumped at the only way he could see to salvage his plan. It wasn't as good as a night out, but at least it would be company. "May I accompany you?"

If he were reading Ray's face correctly, Ray wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or amused. "It's not like I'm gonna off myself, I'm not that depressed."

Perish the thought! "Oh—no, that's not why I'd like to join you," Fraser said, hurriedly.

Ray leaned back, sitting at the edge of his desk, hips canted slightly forward. "You're just on a guilt trip."

"No, it's—well, yes, that's part of it," he admitted. "But I also—I've been where you are, and I know how it feels—"

"You've been dissed a second time by your own ex-wife?" Ray definitely sounded entertained now.

Fraser repressed a smile. "Not exactly. But last time I was feeling—as you're feeling now," he said, delicately, "you—that is," glancing around the room to be sure no one was listening, he whispered, "the first Ray," then continued at a normal decibel level, "—refused to let me mope. You told me that was what friends were for. So clearly I owe you the same treatment."

"I said that, huh?" Ray's eyes were bright, though whether with swallowed laughter or tears Fraser couldn't be sure.

"You did," he confirmed.

"Well, then. I guess we're gonna make an evening of it."

Fraser let himself beam.

"I gotta say, though, I'm not sure Paesano's is really what I'm in the mood for," Ray said, thoughtfully. "Seems to me the traditional response to being single and unhappy about it is to find a nice loud bar and drink yourself into oblivion."

Fraser's heart sank—had he misjudged Ray's idea of a good time so thoroughly? He could think of few less companionable ways to spend an evening than watching as Ray slid further and further into maudlin drunkenness; but, he reminded himself, he owed Ray whatever Ray wanted. He straightened his shoulders. "If that's what you'd prefer, off we go, then."

Ray actually chuckled. "Just kidding, Fraser. Actually, how'd you feel about ordering in some Thai and watching the hockey game?"

"Sounds marvelous, actually." Fraser was so relieved he didn't mind letting it show.

"Off we go, then," Ray echoed, shutting off his desk light and starting towards the door. Fraser let him lead the way.

* * *

They called from Ray's cell phone on the way to Ray's apartment; the Spicy Basil chicken curry and Pad Thai arrived shortly after they did. As soon as they ordered dinner, Ray seemed to relax, as though the certainty of spending an evening in company had released some tightly wound spring in him.

Fraser, for his own part, slipped easily into the rhythm of their duet, spinning the most absurd Inuit stories he knew to get a laugh out of Ray. And if he were occasionally guilty of looking at Ray too longingly, or too long, there was no harm in dreaming. As long as Ray didn't see him looking, there was nothing wrong with it.

He knew, deep down, that he was justifying something to himself which was fundamentally incorrect; but he allowed himself the indulgence anyway. Seeing Ray happy in his presence, maybe even because of his presence, made him happy. He was entitled to that, wasn't he?

The Canadiens beat the Mighty Ducks, which pleased Fraser; Ray seemed to be rooting for the Ducks just to be contrarian, and didn't seem unduly agitated when they lost. As the ESPN anchorwoman cornered players to interview after the game, Ray lazily hit the "mute" button on his remote control. Hockey players mouthed silent words at them.

"Hey, thanks a bunch for this," Ray said, abruptly.

"You're most welcome." Fraser felt the beginnings of regret. This was the start of a ritualized farewell sequence. Well, it had been a fine evening, and he should be mindful of Ray's cues; it wasn't his own broken heart he was here to soothe, afterall. Fraser reached for his Stetson, preparing to rise.

Ray's hand grabbed his wrist. "Hey! What're you doing?"

"Getting my hat to go," Fraser said, though he wasn't sure what needed explaining; it was a fairly simple gesture, was it not?

"Oh." Ray let go of him.

His wrist felt warm where Ray had touched it, but Fraser ignored that as resolutely as he could. "You seemed—you thanked me for coming," Fraser explained.

"Yeah, and?"

"And I assumed that meant it was time for me to leave."

Ray shrugged, nonchalant. "If you want to, that's cool."

Fraser set his hat back on the coffee table. "It's your evening," he said. "Your wish is my command."

Ray quirked a half-smile, though he was looking down—which gave Fraser a delicious, if shameful, opportunity to feast on the sight of his unnaturally long lashes. "Yeah? What if—" He paused.

Fraser waited, something alarmingly akin to anticipation rising in him. Oh, God, if only Ray would wish for—for --

Ray's voice cut off his fantasy. "What if —" And then he stopped again.

Fraser felt he might burst. "Yes?" He barely bit back the impulse to say *anything, anything you want, Ray, just name it--*

Ray seemed to reach a decision, and met his eyes. "What if I want more than one evening? What if, you know, we do this again tomorrow?"

"The Canadiens won't be playing tomorrow," Fraser said, automatically, though his heart was exulting.

"So what, who cares, we can rent a movie or something," Ray said, exasperated. "I just meant, maybe I need another night. Before I'm, you know, myself again."

"You can have as many nights as you need," Fraser promised.

Ray's eyes on his were intent. Fraser thought, inanely, that he was coming to understand how one might say a person's eyes could burn. Ray's eyes were smoldering.

"I might need a while," Ray said. Quietly. As though he were talking about something else. As though he had noticed Fraser looking. As though he were making a promise, to be cashed in action when his heart had sufficiently healed.

Fraser could have sworn his lung capacity was remarkably high, in most situations, but somehow he was having trouble drawing a deep and full breath.

"All the time in the world," Fraser said. Barely recognizing his own voice, it was so low and hungry.

Neither of them moved. Ray's regard was steady. Fraser's throat was tight.

Finally Ray broke the spell, reaching for Fraser's Stetson. "Good, then."

Fraser rose and took the hat from Ray's fingers. "Tomorrow," he said.

Ray rose to match him. "Tomorrow," Ray confirmed, and smiled.


End file.
